


Enchanté

by Victorian_Asylum



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Cousland is a pompous ass, F/F, Rich kid shenanigans
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-02
Updated: 2015-05-02
Packaged: 2018-03-28 17:34:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,527
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3863389
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Victorian_Asylum/pseuds/Victorian_Asylum
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Before the betrayal, before the Wardens, before the Blight, two women meet at a party.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Enchanté

**Author's Note:**

> I tend to imagine my Cousland to be smarmy, self-centered and generally kind of douchey before she joins the Wardens, which is a pretty hard set of lessons for her to swallow.

Cousland never cared much for Orlais, in the hypocritical way all the rich and restless disapproved of things. It reminded her too much of herself; grandiose, deceitful, colorful to a fault and callous. It was full of wine, fashion, elegant youth and art. Things Cousland enjoyed, when she was the sole entertainer of a game, and others were cards to be played. In Orlais, everyone was wrapped inside their own petty games, each trying to outmaneuver the other as quietly and poetically as possible. This, Cousland found tedious. There was no fun to be had with other nobles jockeying for title or romance or notoriety. Cousland tired of pissing contests disguised as idle chatter and flattery. As such, the part she found herself in was rather a bore. She hated keeping up appearances and playing nice, charming old money settled safely behind those ridiculous masks. Orlesians. She never understood them.

Still, the people were pretty, the wine was plentiful and the gossip was juicy. So it was not a total waste. She has been watching the room, the flow of guests, keeping tabs on the romantic jacks of all trades they called bards. There were three attending that she was aware of. They were not particularly difficult to spot. They wore no masks. Surely their faces were masks themselves. After all, bards inept at playing the Grand Game did not last long. Cousland simply looked for the most elegant and charming individuals, who seemed to flutter about the room like soft summer winds. None have approached her for conversation, but she knew that they were watching her as much as she was watching them. Perceptive, as the stories eluded to, they surely sensed she was not here for simple pleasures.

Cousland was not, of course. She was here under her own contract, a thing of vengeance and intimidation, and one of the lesser nobles here, a middle aged man currently chatting up a group of young women, had made many enemies, and was not going to survive this night. So, Cousland watched him, mapping out his mannerism, where he seemed to frequent and how often he left the main room. She was also letting him have some fun, before she had to get him alone, cut open his throat and dispose of his body. Perhaps it also gave her time to enjoy the food and wine, the only Orlesian vices she cared for, but that was a secret known only to herself.

Her plans of quietly watching and laughing over the ridiculousness of the entire thing went awry, however, when one of the bards came her way. And make no mistake about, she was definitely a bard, the way she moved, all sensual determination. There went Couslands's plans of little to no chit chatting. The red headed bard weaved through the crowd like water, effortlessly grabbing a goblet off the platter of a waiter she passed as if it were second nature. Cousland took a large drink of wine. This was going to be a long night. Bards only ever spoke with purpose. Which means they want any combination of three things: to sleep with you, to kill you, or to gather information on you. None of which Cousland could afford. Bards never sought information they didn't want or need, and Cousland was no in the business of giving it away. She needed to lie low.

“All alone in the corner,” the bard began, that melodious Orlesian sound escaping smiling lips. Oh, she was good. Perfectly charming, she made one want to talk for hours with just a few words, as if you'd known her for years. “Parties are meant to be enjoyed, no?”

“Parties one wants to attend,” Cousland said, keeping her voice strictly neutral, avoiding its natural aristocratic disposition.

“Forced socialization? You poor thing. What kind of party do you wish to attend?”

Cousland raised an eyebrow. The woman was convincing, and she was watching, ever so quietly, trying to figure out just who Cousland was. If luck was on her side, the bard wasn't hired to take out her target. “One that did not follow Orlesian... sensibilities.” One that was not full of wealthy people with sticks up their asses, trying to stomp each other out while smiling and trading witty remarks.

“We Orlesians can be rather entertaining. You just need to find the right person.”

“Is that so?”

“Of course. You Ferelden nobles are so quick to dismiss our soirees. All you need is someone to show you the brilliance.”

Cousland hid her laugh behind her goblet. Now she was almost certain this woman was going to kill her. All the most beautiful people were the ones who were most deadly. After a moment's pause to collect herself, she leaned forward, away from the wall, into the woman's personal space. She surveyed her features, watched the trained bard's eye follow her move. Cousland grinned. A little fun never hurt anyone. “Entertain me then, _belle rose_.”

Cousland's Orlesian was pitiful at best, but it made the men and women back home weak in the knees. And if that didn't do it, her wealth usually did. Still, it wasn't convincing to a native, but, if the bard noticed the clipped manner in which is was spoken, she made no comment. Instead, she took Cousland by the hand and led her to the middle of the room, where patrons danced to the slow waltz. A clever move. At the very least, if Cousland's noble upbringing taught her nothing else, it was was how to properly dance. She took the lead.

“You never properly introduced yourself,” the bard noted, as they moved with the music.

“My dear, even I know names are power in Orlais.” Cousland returned.

“How cynical. A name for a name, then. I am Leliana.”

Cousland watched her for a moment, the gleam in her soft diamond eyes, just the right amount of openness to her image to be inviting, mysterious, desirable in a way bards cultivate. How long had she been playing the Game? She could only be but a handful of years older. Young and in love with her life of intrigue, romance and death. What a destructively gorgeous way to be. “Emily,” Cousland said. First names meant little. Hers was common enough in Ferelden.

“Well, Emily, if you are not here of you own accord, why are you? Are your parents trying to find potential suitors?”

Cousland had to laugh at that. Yes, her parents were. Her father was searching high and low for a “proper man”, while her mother had wizened up to the fact that marriage had no appeal at the moment, and men were not the only parts of the equation. However, they confined their search to her home country, which limited things considerably for them. They did not know her true reason for traveling here. They had very little idea at all of what their cherished daughter did with her time. “In Orlais? No.”

Leliana smiled, leaning into the dip the dance called for. When she was upright, she said, “It would not be hard. There are many eligible bachelors and bachelorettes here. I'm sure they'd find you intriguing, a beautiful, foreign woman like yourself.”

“If I didn't know better, I'd think you were trying to seduce me.”

“Politics and seduction sound much the same in Orlais. I'll let you decide what this is.”

The dance came to an end and Cousland stood face to face with Leliana amidst the crowd of well dressed, masked individuals. She was playing a game and playing it very well. Was Cousland a prize, or a simple curiosity to be entertained for an evening? Instead of being pulled into another dance, Cousland glanced around the hall, at the tall windows with the curtains drawn back, open to the fresh summer air. “I hear the gardens are enchanting this time of year. Care to show me?” She had to shake this woman somehow, but her curious nature demanded to know why she was here. Secrets were not so easily shared, certainly not among bards.

Leliana's calculated gaze swept over Cousland once, measuring, before she flowed through crowd and into the gardens, smile soft and believably sincere. If there was one thing politics didn't taint, it was the charming, earthen aesthetic Orlesian cities held themselves to, a blend of historic, sweeping architecture interwoven with all things botanical, a harmony Ferelden could never hope to match. Orlesian were what they surrounded themselves with. Few strangers inhabited the gardens, which made it the perfect place to have it out. After a brief tour, where Leliana proved herself to be well versed in plant life, they moved to a small, secluded fountain surrounded by blooming flowers. “Do you still believe our parties to be so tedious?”

“Perhaps they are less so,” Cousland conceded, “When one has proper company.”

Leliana's eyebrows raised, a quaint little grin quirking her lips. “Have you found proper company yet?”

“It is possible,” Cousland said, leaning in far enough for it to be considered invasive and indecent. Here she could see fluttering red lashes, a sprinkling of freckles like stars across alabaster skin. Leliana's eyes were certainly rich, ocean jewels in the soft light. Did one have to be beautiful in order to be a bard, or did the mysterious romanticism that cloaked them create something gorgeous instead? In any case, Leliana was here, enchanting as all bards are, filled with a very Orlesian type of magic no mage could possess. There was a delicious hitch of her breath as Cousland grinned, lips brushing the silken skin of Leliana's chin, then her lips. “So tell me, my dear, just what does a bard want with me?”

There was a small flicker of surprise, quickly swallowed in a manner most impressive, and then it was Leliana's turn. “That depends.” Her words were husky and languid, sweet as honey, and Cousland's heart skipped a beat. She was every bit as seductive as the legends of bards eluded. For the moment, Cousland was caught in her web. Leliana captured her lips in a kiss that was every bit as wondrous as Orlesian wine. It was slow and sweet, like a first kiss among children. Then her tongue traced an outline, demanded entrance, to which Cousland all but submitted, and Leliana was in control, fingers ghosting across Cousland's hips, too soft, too tempting. When she pulled away, Cousland groaned, only partially annoyed with her own weakness and maybe a little intoxicated with the bard. But, Leliana persisted, lips trailing along Cousland's jaw, then slowly down her neck. She paused, breath hot against Cousland's pulse, and said, “What is a Cousland doing in Orlais?”

So, that was it. Cousland was sure this woman was sent to kill her. She expected a knife between the ribs at any moment, or for those teeth gently teasing her throat to sink into flesh and arteries and tear her neck right open. She was woefully out of depth now. She knew nothing of Leliana aside from her name and profession, and Leliana, it seemed, knew almost everything. Still, Cousland would never admit defeat, and lying was practically a business in it's own right. So, she threaded her fingers through the satin strands of Leliana's hair, gripped locks of it at the base of her skull, just enough pressure to be known, and tugged until they were face to face, feline's enthralled by the hunt, both near a kill. “A bard does not pick at random. You sought me out. Why?”

“A foreigner at a party? The perfect chance to end the monotony.”

Cousland watched, but the lie passed Leliana's teeth like the truth. Her thumbs traced patterns across Cousland's thighs. A quick press of a knife and Cousland would be dead in minutes. A healer would be hard pressed to seal the wound in time. “You've obviously done your research. It is not coincidence you are here.”

“I could say the same of you, Emily. Do all Couslands practice assassination? It is a family business, or do you just pass the time?”

“It keeps my skills sharp, it is an excuse to get out of the castle and it pays well.”

“You poor, rich little thing. Must be lonely, stuffed into a magnificent castle with no fun to be had.”

Cousland laughed, even if the jab hit where it was supposed. Still, it was true. She was rich, restless and young. The perfect combination to provide carelessness, and a casual kill, coupled with a party, was a good way to ease boredom and raise some personal revenue. She wasn't the injured party, so why should she care about the aftermath? “Is that not what bards are? Arrogant nobles idling their time?”

Leliana scoffed, a pretty noise that vibrated that gorgeous throat of hers, and shook her head. “The poor ones yes, they do not last long. A bard does not simply kill. We are among the greatest players of the Game, and tools of it. Only the best survive. We do not take contracts for laughs.”

“Ah, so you are here to stop me then.”

“Indeed. That man's time will come, but not today.”

Cousland leaned back, relaxed her grip only slightly. The music floating through the doors was lively, there was chatter and laughter and plenty of champagne. She could still see her target, goring on food, just a masked little prick with a target on his skull. Was he so important that he hired a bard as insurance. Perhaps he realized he had enemies yet, and they had contacts beyond a single country. Well, her excursions were nothing if not exciting. And hazardous. But what was a job without the thrill of death? She was restless to the very marrow of her insensitive bones and half convinced she was an immortal soul. “Were you hired to kill me?”

“I was hired to dissuade you from your mission.” Leliana watched closely, the picture of nonchalance, but she was ready to strike at a moments notice. Likely knew twelve different ways to kill Cousland without ever sitting up. Always had to be prepared, no matter the situation. “I can use any means at my disposal. But, I would rather not ruin such a nice evening with death.”

“Well, I'm not getting paid, and I'm not getting killed.” Cousland dropped her hand, fingers lingering over shoulders and down her spine. She was far, far too sober for this. Intrigue was all well and good, but pretty people and fine wine were so much better than the danced she was locked in. She much preferred to do her assassinations in peace. Still, an evening is an evening, no matter how eventful, and Leliana was the most interesting person she had met all evening. Cousland may regret this now, but, she'll try anything once. “What's in it for me?”

Leliana's smile was positively sinful, and her hands, stilled for conversations of death, came to delightful life. Killing was off the table. Information had already been gathered. Really, that only left one thing for the bard to have. “I'm sure I can think of something.”

 

 

 


End file.
